


Lost Within Myself

by ryssabeth



Series: Lost and Found [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, Memory Loss, canon!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 12:16:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryssabeth/pseuds/ryssabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Within Myself

Something is missing.

 _Something_  is a bit too vague, a bit too lacking in description. But without that word, Grantaire can’t articulate what, exactly, has left the hole inside him. It is a hole without a shape, with serrated edges that hurt when pressed. And it is _wide_. Expansive.

There is no sight from one side to the other.

It is not a gulf that can be filled with drink—he’s trying, and there appears to be no bottom to this wound within him. Nothing to hold it, nothing to fill it. And  _thinking_  about it makes it difficult to breathe.

( _“Why are you crying?”_ )

It’s as if a bottle was crushed inside his lungs, glass pieces cutting up his chest when he breathes.

( _“I don’t know.”_ )

 The edges of the hole inside him only get sharper with the addition of the glass, scraping against the parts of him it tries to swallow. He feels like—he feels like a building without foundation, sliding down a slope full of mud and twigs and stones, beating against him as he tries to claw his way back to a place he can’t remember, where the base of what he had been will be.

( _“Why are you crying?”_ )

“Grantaire!” He looks up from his long-since empty bottle, finding Marius striding toward him through the crowd of fellow drunks, looking as if the heavens have opened up and dropped joy personified into his lap. Maybe he’s found a girl— _no_ , wait, he’s already found one, but _when_ , and—

“If it isn’t Pont _mercy_ , what can I do for you?”

“The others—the others  _survived_  the barricade! They—they’re all—Enjolras and Bousset and Joly and Jehan and Eponine, they all—“ his voice goes tight and then stops altogether in happiness.

“I heard,” Grantaire says quietly, the glass in his lungs renewing their attack upon his insides. “And that’s  _wonderful_. But it’s not my problem.”

The sunlight that had been touched upon Marius’ face disappears, replaced with cloud cover and concern. “Pardon?”

“I didn’t know anyone on the barricade. The only one here stupid enough to  _be_  there, out of the two of us was—apparently—“ he nods at the bandages on his arm, “you.”

His brows furrow, and the arm that isn’t held in a protective sling, falls limp at his side. “What are you saying?”

“I’m  _saying_ ,” he’s too tired to shout, the glass cutting him to pieces too painful to speak any louder, “that  _I don’t know_. I don’t know them, I was never there, I don’t  _know_  why people keep telling me things—“ ( _“Why are you crying?”_ ) “—I don’t  _know_ , I don’t know, Marius, I don’t  _know_ , I—“

Marius moves forward, his hands coming to cup Grantaire’s cheeks. “They survived the barricade,” Marius whispers, the sounds and noise and murmurs of the bar covering his words. “Grantaire,” and he raises his voice a little louder. “What have you  _done?_ ”

“I don’t know,” Grantaire replies.

-

There is a hole in Enjolras—a space where, before, there had been a person. A person, it is to be noted, that he never thought he would miss. (But he was a constant—for all that he caused trouble and was persistent and  _wrong_ —he was _always,_ always,  _always_ there.)

He is missing Grantaire.

He is  _missing_ —

( _“I believe in you.”_ )

—Grantaire. Of all people. Of  _all_  people—!

(Enjolras is lost.)


End file.
